


stop calling, stop calling (i don't wanna talk anymore)

by ironicallyinternational



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bev and Richie are the cool kids (right), Eddie is trying to do things right but that's a shit idea, Just before uni, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Richie Tozier, Richie is a bit of a mess and his parents suck, Their friends try their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 19:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13642977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironicallyinternational/pseuds/ironicallyinternational
Summary: Richie calls each of the Losers at an ungodly hour of the morning. It has everything to do with boredom and nothing to do with his sky-rocketing fears of rejection and loneliness. Coincidentally, Eddie seems to be blowing him off, which is- you know, not so great. It's all good, though. Richie is fine. But he has yet to manage to call him.Alternatively, high schoolers scared of what life is bringing them, and the Losers trying to help.





	stop calling, stop calling (i don't wanna talk anymore)

**Author's Note:**

> i love reddie and i had to churn out something for them real quick lol it's definitely not my best work but i might come back to write a longer piece when i have the time

It started with Beverly, as most things in the world did. Richie had extensive evidence collected somewhere in the overstuffed wardrobe of his mind that all good things originated with Bev, in between the drawer of words that rhymed with Stan and the drawer of proof that the government was brainwashing children through advertising.

It was a busy drawer. Lot of stuff going on, Miz Marsh did.

In any event, this particular occasion was normal Bev-and-Richie, one of many similar vignettes of autumn 93, a blurry collection of shouted laughs and tomfoolery. They had a whole routine worked out, him and Bev, of which the point was defying routine and being the edgy teens they were. Well- he was. Edgy. Obviously. Beverly was merely his loyal follower. Could only aspire to reach his level.

Usually peak Losers time was right after school, and peak Bev time was nighttime, when her aunt fell asleep, when Richie was getting antsy. She almost had her license; for now they stayed confined to Derry and as far as the bus could take them for small change.

It was never anything Big- movies, music, smokes, trying to see who could jump highest without falling.

Dialogue establishing a soiree usually went something like this:

 

RICHIE: Beverly Marsh, light of my life and loins-

BEVERLY: Beep beep, Tozier. It’s past midnight.

RICHIE: Would you do me the immeasurable pleasure of having a gander?

BEVERLY: This time of the night... What’s in it for me?

RICHIE: Since when are you so picky with company, huh? Need I remind you I am the best boy in town? Nay, in the world?

BEVERLY: I don’t know, I feel like that’s probably Mike. Or Ben.

RICHIE: Pale shadows of my glory.

BEVERLY: Bill, maybe. Stan’s pretty great. You know, even Eddie’s-

RICHIE: You wound me, Marsh! You cut me deep!

BEVERLY: In the shallows of your emotional range.

RICHIE: Hey, I’m real fuckin’ deep! Deeper than my dick goes-

BEVERLY: You’re a virgin. Let’s hit the road.

RICHIE: Was that so hard to say?

BEVERLY: Fuck you.

RICHIE: Ow, motherfucker! That hurt!

BEVERLY: Want a smoke or what?

 

So he and Bev spent the night as usual, him blabbing at a mile an hour and her being genuinely funny without trying nearly as hard; them hand in hand on the traintracks, or shoulder to shoulder down the street, or tussling in an empty cinema, until someone started shining flashlights. They weren’t good with bright lights.

Beverly smelled like cigarettes and scrapped knees and wildflowers and bubblegum. Richie drank her in as long as she let him, her and her snark and kindness and big dreams, and in return entertained her like a veritable showman. It was what he was best at.

People tended to Assume, with big letters, about the two of them. Richie figured People were fucking stupid, but Beverly sometimes got sort of worked up about it, maybe the whole slut thing, Richie didn’t know. In any case he reverted back to annoying brotherly figure at a moment’s notice.

Not that he was ever not annoying. It was his proudest talent.

“-which, in my humble opinion, is a sign,” Richie said now, waving his arms about. “Education is a scam! Fuck society, and let kids do weed!”

“Inspired,” Bev grinned. Her hair was reaching her shoulders again- would be trimmed soon, sooner than Richie’s. They were a spectrum of hair length between the two of them, Richie’s ever growing mop of curls and her carefully shaggy bob. “Trashmouth for president.”

“That’s a fucking great slogan!” Richie asserted, flinging his arms behind his head comfortably. “I’d be benevolent to you, Beverly, you’d be consort, you’d get to snort coke with me.”

“All I ever wanted,” Beverly laughed. Then, before Richie could continue with his vision, sobered up: “I need to get home or I’ll get skinned. My aunt hates me being out in town at night.”

“Gee, good old Derry? Why’s that?” Richie asked, snickering. “Rapists round every corner? Maybe even a honk honk?”

“Beep beep,” Beverly said, flatly, shifting her stance. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow. Thanks for hanging.”

“You’re cold, Bev,” Richie retorted, with melodrama. “You hurt a man’s pride.”

“I try,” Beverly smiled, and left to the sound of Richie laughing after her.

People shrunk when they walked away. Like how someone you didn’t see for a while slipped out of your head- even just the distance made them less than they’d been. Sort of like with his parents, or Bill’s.

Beverly’s glint of orange hair was the last to vanish, and Richie stayed with his hand still waving by itself, blinking through his glasses, forgetting.

He didn’t like walking alone in the dark, when he’d watched her go. Made him think back.

His house was dead, parents still conked out or absent as they’d been when he left. He put noodles in the oven, for a lack of microwave, and settled on the counter fidgeting.

He hated early mornings. They sucked. More than clowns, more than Henry, more than people who thought Africa was a bad song. Early evenings, of course, were the absolute worst, but mornings... There was no one to disturb, no one to fidget around, just the boring old house and him, by himself, in his head, waiting.

Sometimes he got shitty and lame and imagined that his future would be just that, the empty dead house and the no one to talk to, him and his voices and no one else. The “worst fucking voices in the world”, the ones he’d come up with to entertain himself, before he’d had friends. They weren’t the best company, on a forever scale.

He went straight for the phone.

Beverly picked up after ages.

“What the fuck?”

“Seniorita,” Richie exclaimed. “How are-a you doing?”

“Richie?”

“I got bored!” Richie sing-songed. “Missed you so dearly.”

“It’s three a.m., jackass,” Beverly reproached, but she was lightly amused. “You can’t call people at three in the morning and expect them to answer.”

“You did.”

“Yeah, cause I happened to be passing by the phone, dipshit,” Bev snorted. “We saw each other like fifteen minutes ago.”

“Too long. The distance kills me.”

“I’m going to bed, Trashmouth, see you tomorrow.”

“See you in my dreams, Molly Ringwald.” He left one delicious beat of silence in, and then, grinning: “My wet drea-”

Beverly hung up on him.

  
It got him thinking. Scheming. Whatever. Not immediately, because he had a short and strange attention span, and things tended to come back to him randomly, but eventually.

Early mornings, and phone calls.

He sucked at Eddie’s milk pensively.

“Hey, Staniel!”

“Not my name, Richard.”

“You have a cellular phone, right?”

“Yes,” Stan said, warily. “You can’t borrow it. It’d break your noodle arms.”

“Hey now,” Richie pouted, exaggerated. “I would never.”

“Who would Richie even call?” Eddie snarked, zoning back into their conversation. “No one wants to hear that voice outside a forced environment.”

“Your mom disagreed last night,” Richie grinned, as Eddie pulled an exasperated face and the table sighed in unison. “She was very vocal, actually, Eds-“

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snapped, before freezing. “Is that my fucking milk? Did you just smear your probably STD infected lips over my goddamn milk?”

“Aw, babe, my lips have been plenty of places-“

“FUCK you, Tozier!”

It would be fun, he reckoned. He’d call all of them. One at a time. Give him something to do for the next week. Or whatever.

Bill, nearby, made an “uh oh” noise, likely sensing trouble from his expression. Richie winked at him.

He actually didn’t call Stan first. He went with Mike, because he had a genuine question for Mike, and it seemed convenient.

The phone rang endlessly into the night, and Richie fiddled with the cord as he reflected. These were urgent matters, honestly. There was some kind of dancing event on, and Richie and Mike were obviously the dancers of the group. Or, like, Mike was, but Richie was the only one who would dance in front of people with no care in the world, and it didn’t matter if he was an uncoordinated tangle of limbs because he had mojo, ladies and gents. If Mike Hanlon, local heartthrob, deigned to pop and lock it with him, they’d have a grand old time.

The phone kept ringing, ringing, ringing, and Richie remembered himself. No response, it seemed. For a moment his mind flashed to another time where technology had started to fuck with him, but he quashed the thought with a pale laugh. No clown projectors this time.

He went to bed anyways, though. Suddenly he was tired.

“Rich,” Mike called, out of breath, the next morning, as Richie clambered onto his bike.

“Hanlon the handsome,” Rich replied, blinking at him. “What brings you to this side of town?”

“You,” Mike said, stopping his bike. He looked like he’d been cycling hard. “When I went into the farmhouse this morning we’d missed like twenty minutes of a call from your landline.”

“Oh, right,” Richie grinned. He’d all but forgotten that.

“I was worried,” Mike said, frankly, maybe a little dry. “Although obviously I shouldn’t have been.”

“Worried? About me?” Richie dismissed, with an exaggerated little wave of the hand. “Come on, now, Lando. When’s anyone ever had to worry about me? I’m the only one out of those dorks capable of looking after myself.”

“That was very funny,” Mike dead-panned. “Real comedian.”

Richie broke character and snickered. “Actually I just wanted to know if you were coming to Groove Night.”

“I think I might be free that night,” Mike shrugged, muscles flexing casually as he did so. Mike had great muscles. Farmers were just blessed with good build, in Richie’s opinion- the kind of dudes who gave good hugs and probably good dick. “Who’s asking?”

“Your favorite white boy?”

“Aw, Stan, really?”

“Hey,” Richie whined, as Mike laughed. “Stan’s a Jew, that’s not really white. I’m the only real trailer trash round here.”

“No trailer, just trash,” Mike corrected, entertained anyways. “Don’t blow up my phone at night, though, dude, my grandpa will put you through the grinder.”

“Everyone wants a taste of Tozier meat, I dig,” Richie nodded, leering, upon which his friend rolled his eyes hard and knocked into his bike.

“Bye, Richie.”

“Aye, m’lad.”

  
The Mike thing was actually quite convenient, because it meant no one else heard about Richie’s plan, him  
being homeschooled and all. He was in two minds for his next target- Stan would definitely kill him, but then Ben would probably actually have a nice chat with him if he happened to be awake, so it depended what Richie wanted to savour, really.

Of course, he wanted to savour the murderous rage.

“You look like sh-sh-shit,” Bill informed him, on their way to lunch. “You’re not s-s-s-sleeping enough. The Sh-sh-shining’s h-hiring.”

“Nonsense, Billiam, cocaine chic is trendy,” Richie waved away, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Be-sides, the ladies dig my look.”

“When they’re not too busy being blinded by your clothes,” Stan added, flatly, from where Bill had gestured him over. “Do you mean to turn me blind before I’m twenty?”

“Fashion, Stan!” Richie exclaimed, doing a little twirl that nearly knocked him over. “Windbreaker, radical flame shorts, socks, tube sandals- fresh off MTV, my brow-ski.”

“You neglect to mention half of these things are in clashing fluorescent colours.”

“Complementary!”

“No, an eyesore.”

“They are hideous,” Bill agreed, upon Richie’s outraged look. “S-s-sorry, Rich, but you know this. You l-l-love it.”

“Honestly,” came the voice of God, that is to say Ben, “I think it suits Richie.”

“BENJAMIN,” Richie crowed, and pressed a nice sloppy kiss to his cheek. “This is why you’re my only friend.”

“You emanate a sort of chaotic energy,” Ben shrugged, wiping his face as his eyes twinkled. “Your clothes do well to translate it.”

“Aw, dah-lin’, that’s the darn sweetest.”

“Why is Richie smiling?” Eddie asked. “This doesn’t bode well for my day.”

Richie turned his widest grin on him, and Eddie went red around the ears and scowled.

Cute, cute, cute.

  
He called Ben earlier than Mike, out of bored anticipation. Somehow he was disappointed when no answer came, which he shouldn’t have been. He’d pictured- it didn’t matter. Whatever.

Ben was a nice guy. A real nice dude. Funny, too, like genuinely. Richie hoped for his sake that Beverly one day- he didn’t know, felt the same, he guessed. Cause it’d probably be good, for Beverly, to have someone like Ben, who balanced her out without ever breaking her down.

That left Bill alone, though. Although- no, Bill had all of them, who were crazy into him. Richie would have gotten himself punched again a thousand times, just on a whim, because Bill was that sort of friend.

He couldn’t remember life before Bill. Not life worth living. Him and B-B-Bill went back before anyone except Eddie, but Eddie had been too busy being besotten with their team leader way back then and Richie had claimed the role of second forever.

He rang Bill, this time. Because his number was easiest and Ben was clearly not gonna answer and Bill might.

“Hello?”

Shit, parents. He hadn’t thought about those.

“Ah- yes, madame, I am advertising for a-a life changing-“

“Not interested,” Mrs D said, coolly, and slammed the phone down.

Richie blinked at the phone.

He wondered how Bill slept, nights like these. If he was awake too long like he used to be. Back then he’d been the one who couldn’t sleep, dark rings and bitten nails, and Richie had been the one who stayed up because he was too fidgety for sleep anyways.

He wondered what a difference it made, having parents who’d never cared or parents who’d stopped caring at the worst possible time.

Georgie... He hadn’t thought about him in a while. Unthinkingly he started fiddling with his elastic bands, foot tapping an unsteady beat. There was always the danger, with G, of thinking to the Other Georgie, and balloons, and...

Richie got up and walked into his bedroom, where he lay flat on his bed for a long, long, time, remembering the real Georgie, small and sweet and funny. He’d held Richie’s hand, the first person to ever do that, and Richie had stared at him for a moment, silenced, until Georgie had looked up and asked impatiently for the rest of the story. Richie’d spoiled him rotten after that.

  
“Are you ill?” Eddie asked, the next day, in econ. Richie looked over towards him, chin rested against his hands, found him frowning discontentedly.

“You worried, Eddie-spaghetti?”

“Worried you’ll contaminate me, yes,” Eddie hissed, but Richie could read the set to his mouth and dismiss that theory. The thought made something in him coil a little.

“I’m not ill,” Richie allowed, then smirked at him. “Only love sick. Mrs K is a special lady.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie groused, giving up. “One day my mom will actually pay attention to you and beat your ass.”

“Not my ass, it’s my best asset!”

“Tell me that wasn’t a pun.”

“I can’t do that, Eds, you know this.”

“Don’t call me Eds.”

Richie spent the rest of the hour staring distractedly at Eddie, whose hair was starting to curl the longer it got, and the tan to his skin, and the freckles on his nose. Crazy what good health and going outside did to you.

He was puzzled sometimes by the fact a creature like Eddie, compact and tailored and perfectly designed, could coexist with his muppet limbs, mop of hair, and crooked everything else.

“You called,” Ben said, quietly, catching him at break. “Everything ok? I’m sorry I was asleep...”

“Bennie, my dude,” Richie reassured, slapping his chest. “It is absolutely tubular. I was bored, I called, you didn’t pick up, I stopped. That’s all!”

“Bored at that time,” Ben said, and shook his head with a little piercing look. “You know, if you need to talk, just have some tea, anything like that...”

“What am I, middle-aged?” Richie cackled. “No, no, you’re beautiful and I love you, Ben, but I’m fine, seriously.”

“Okay,” Ben nodded, taking his word for it, which was one of his best traits. “In that case, I gotta go to English Lit. I sort of beelined for you.”

“What was he on about?” Eddie asked, appearing next to him. He looked sort of disgruntled. Which, to be fair, he always did, but it was a specific mood here.

“Confessing his feelings, you know how it is,” Richie drawled, smiling broadly as Eddie sighed. “Don’t worry, I turned him down. Told him I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Die,” Eddie said, simply. Richie licked his face, and got kneed for it.

He wasn’t seeing a lot of Eddie, these days. He guessed because they had so many different classes. But that had never stopped them before- matter of fact he was sort of Richie’s best friend, maybe even more than Bev or Bill, or in any case different. The past month or so, though, Eddie had been less and less present, and now that Richie was registering it it sort of sucked.

Maybe Eddie had finally grown tired of him for real. That’d be funny.

It was with these vague thoughts in mind that Richie sat in front of the landline that night and couldn’t bring himself to dial.

  
He bunked school Friday afternoon, parked himself in the arcade until the others began to filter in. Unfortunately, the others ended up being Henry B’s motley gang of assholes, who Richie heard pull up outside as he finished his level.

“Trashmouth Tozier!”

“Blowjob Bowers!” Richie called back, mock enthusiastically. It never ceased to amaze him that Bowers, no longer even in school, full head shorter than Richie now, had the eternal confidence to continue pressing his luck.

“You think you’re slick?” Bowers asked, sneering. “Where are your special friends? Not here to step in this time?”

“Balls deep in your mom,” Richie replied, grinning. He couldn’t help himself. “She’s really into orgies these days.”

“Fag,” Henry spit, and closed the gap as his goons circled. “Don’t act like we don’t know. Do you like it, in your little group, t-t-t-touching each other? Does the slut watch like daddy taught her to?”

“Don’t call her that,” Richie said, losing the smile. He could hear another voice, sickly, echo the same taunts- don’t touch the other boys, Richie... “Just because you and your papa have a special bond-“

Henry threw the first punch while Richie was still out of it, and it hit him straight in the mouth, splitting his lip and making him bite his tongue.

“Motherfucker-“

Henry went again, but Richie side-stepped, searching for an out as the two goons began to grab at him. Fuckers- one grabbed hold of his arm as the other kicked his shin, hard, but Richie abruptly folded just as Bowers went for his face, connecting the fist to his capturer’s neck instead, who shouted and let go. Richie wriggled lose of the other, trying not to inhale blood, and kicked blindly at Henry’s stumpy thigh, aiming for the crotch. He missed, only by a little.

“Good job,” Bowers mocked, reeling him in by the neck as Richie choked. “All grown up, Tozier. Unlike some- his momma might say it’s the meds, but we know between us why your pal Eddie is the way he is, hey?”

“You don’t know shit about Eds,” Richie gurgled, wheezing for air.

“Aw, really now?” Henry asked, tightening his chokehold. “Surely you wouldn’t say that if you knew little Eddie as well as I did.”

“Does your daddy do this to you, Henry?” Richie managed, just because, as his eyesight flickered. His glasses were on the floor, so the blurring was either the lack of oxygen or that. “Do you like it?”

He could hear the rage from the grunt that followed, and chose the moment to plant an elbow in between Henry’s ribs, twisting free. Then he was off, because three on one in the arcade was never a good idea- judging by the scramble after him, none of them were pleased at losing their prey, and Richie wasted precious time turning to give them a little curtsey before jumping on his bike.

His cycling was only slightly off. Something between the lack of vision and the streaming blood.

“What the fuck,” Stan said, jumping up upon seeing him. “Where were you?”

“Chillin’ in the arcade,” Richie bubbled, bloodily, as Beverely grimaced. “Just having a good time.”

“Bowers,” Bill said, grimly.

“No need to save my honour, B, I think I hurt their feelings,” Richie hummed, then winced.

“You absolute moron,” Eddie said, from where he’d been unusually quiet. “Why are you wheezing like that? Cracked rib? And where are your glasses?”

“Nurse K! Good to see you too.”

“You’re a human disaster,” Eddie grit out, appearing in his line of sight as a blur of colours. “Sit.”

“Of course, m’love.”

Eddie grit his teeth audibly, and then there was a cool wipe on his face, stinging where it touched cuts, and his mouth kept making little blood bubbles, which was cool. He squirmed for the duration of the fix-up, particularly when Eddie set at the desanitizer, then again when he poked at the bruised ribs.

Good at this, Eddie was. He never got hurt himself, though- ill, yes, hurt, no. So it all came from Richie.

“Here,” Eddie was saying, and placing his glasses on his nose, the world suddenly clearing, Eddie’s face suddenly close and within distance to... He didn’t know. “Watch what you’re doing next time, dumbass.”

“Thanks,” Richie responded, bobbing his head, and Eddie seemed to remember himself, pulling back at the speed of light. “Where’d you even get a spare pair of glasses? Stalking me?”

“You left them at my house. I’ve been meaning to give them back for ages.”

Richie grinned, joke forming in his head, then winced when the action reopened the split in his lip and everyone groaned.

“Too much blood,” Stan complained. “Why is it always blood?”

“I can’t believe he jumped you in the arcade,” Beverly said, glaring. “In broad fucking daylight!”

“Since when have public spaces meant safe ones, Bev?” Richie asked, through bloody teeth. “Adulthood is indifference.”

Stan shot him a sideways smile, and Richie winked.

“It’s b-b-b-bullshit,” Bill said, shaking his head. “I thought we were s-s-seeing less of them.”

“Less is not little,” Richie parroted. “C’mon, Billiam, I’m swell, you know I am. I like little scuffles, me. Didn’t even lose a tooth!”

“Lost your glasses,” Eddie pointed out.

“Lost my virginity to your mom.”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

  
He and Bill rode back together because Bill was in a mood.

“Hey, B-Bill?”

“Huh?”

“Do you see a lot of Eddie these days?”

Bill blinked. “Yeah? I mean, no more than usual, but I guess? Why?”

“It’s nothing,” Richie waved away, tossing his hair out of his face. “I have this inkling he’s avoiding me. I’m heartbroken.”

“Oh,” Bill said, in this strange tone that meant he knew something. He knew something Richie didn’t. “Well, I’m sure you’re imagining things, dude. Wouldn’t be a first.”

“Please,” Richie snorted. “I know the truth when I see it, man. Eds is all grown up at five foot six and ready to get out and away.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Bill said, slowly. “But I’m not saying anything.”

“Cool cool cool,” Richie hummed. So Eddie was avoiding him for real.

“Rich. No one’s avoiding you.”

“Yu-huh, of course not, man, why would anyone?” Richie laughed, ignoring Bill’s eyes on his back. “The Tozier teen heartthrob is a gift that keeps on giving.”

They rode in relative silence until Bill’s place.

“You should come over sometime,” Bill said, abruptly, at the door. “If it’s our last year together, Rich, I’d like to have some memories just with you, too.”

“Woah, sap.”

“I’m serious. I’ll lose track of you once you’re out there being wacky and rich and famous.”

“Never,” Richie said, feeling both scared and warmed, two emotions he rarely recognised. “Bill, my boy, I’d never lose track of you, and you can’t shake me off that easily.”

“One can only hope,” Bill said, with a little smile. “See you in class.”

At about four twenty, Richie called Stan.

His socks all had holes in. He wasn’t sure how. Half of them weren’t even that old, just happened to have holes on the toe. Maybe they were too small, but socks were pretty stretchy, right? No reason to be doing this.

Stan’s cellular actually clicked on, and Richie stumbled upright excitedly.

“Richie,” Stan’s voice said, tinny.

“Ayup?”

“I know this is you calling, because I always pick up my phone, so if I’m not picking up it’s because someone is calling at an ungodly hour of the day or while I’m in class, and we both know that’s you. Kindly fuck off and rethink your life choices.”

Beep.

Richie stared at the phone, then felt a large smile paint itself on his face.

Stan had just punked him. By predicting him so well he had one of those voice boxes set up.

He began to laugh, first silently, then loudly enough that his lip split again.

This had been his most successful call by far.

  
He thanked Stan for the pleasant chat the next day, and Stan squinted at him and acted like he had no idea what he was talking about, even if he clearly did. Richie booped his nose and escaped.

Calculus homework led him, Bill, and Eddie to sit in Eddie’s kitchen that afternoon, him rocking back on the chair and thinking about the weirdness of the Power Rangers being color coded like that as the other two frowned at their papers.

“I hate math,” Bill sighed. “Equations just gridlock me.”

“Need some help?” Eddie asked, sympathetically. “I can get to number twenty with you, but past that I don’t fucking get what the words even mean, let alone the numbers.”

Richie glanced down, put his foot on the table to drag the book closer as Eddie protested.

“Twenty one?”

“Yes,” Bill said, before Eddie could smack him away.

“Oh,” Richie said, scanning the page. “Yeah, there’s no answer, that’s the point. You can’t proceed to the equations if delta is under forty.”

He handed the book back to Eddie, as Bill smiled.

“Thanks, Rich.”

“No problemo, bro.”

“You’re the worst,” Eddie said, decisively, to which Richie blinked and thought he really didn’t understand what had warranted that reaction.

Eddie Kaspbrak made no darn sense.

“You g-g-guys thinking of going to prom?” Bill asked, after a while.

“I ‘unno, Bev and me were gonna boycott,” Richie shrugged, chewing on his pencil. “Although she was really stoned when she said that, so who knows.”

“Right,” Bill said, a little long-suffering. Probably wanted to invite Bev, or something. Richie had figured he and Stan might... Well, dang, he was getting ahead of himself. Bill was a Real Dude. “Not even c-c-considering going?”

“Man, you know I’d own prom,” Richie laughed. “Me and Mike can bust out some sick moves.”

“The only thing you’d bust are your own bones,” Eddie snorted. “Prom is stupid, and god knows if my mom would let me go.”

“Do you r-r-really care what she yesses and nos anymore, though?” Bill asked, wryly. “If y-y-you wanted to go you w-would.”

“Maybe,” Eddie shrugged. “You sort of need a date, though. Says on the poster.”

So he’d looked at the poster. Richie perched more precariously on his stool.

“There’s that g-g-girl in your History class?” Bill suggested.

“I guess,” Eddie said, with limited enthusiasm, even as Richie swung dangerously far back on his chair trying to recall the girl. “But I don’t know if I wanna spend like my last days of high school alone with some girl I speak to once a week.”

“No prom then,” Bill sighed, resigned. “We’ll d-d-do something else.”

“Party at Stan’s!”

“Stan hates when we have p-p-parties at his, though.”

“Party at mine!”

“I don’t want to set foot in that house!”

“Come on, Eds, don’t be a buzzkill.”

“Buzzkill or not, I don’t want to die contaminated by some horrendous Tozier bug.”

“I would compose a very stirring eulogy, Eds, don’t worry, I’d cry and everything.”

“Stop calling me Eds!” Eddie snapped, more angrily than the comment warranted. “That’s not my fucking name!”

“Eddie,” Bill said, and Eddie seemed ready to argue before he suddenly deflated, looking away.

“Right,” Richie said, looking for a joke but finding none. “Damn. All I do is find a nickname for my son in law-“

“Beep beep.”

Richie swallowed and shut up.

  
He didn’t call Eddie that day, or the next, or the next, but he sat by the phone anyways, every night, thinking, watching.

He wasn’t sure if they were, like, fighting. Usually he knew when they were. Usually he went and pushed all the right buttons until Eddie was back to annoyed and not angry. But usually angry didn’t mean isolation, and Eddie was definitely icing him.

“You aight?” Mike asked, the next weekend, as they sat by the water. “Look sort of bummed.”

“Never,” Richie said, slapping a smile on. “In fact you caught me- I’m devastated that I’ll never have your boyish charms.”

Mike shook his head and stayed quiet, before clapping an arm around Richie’s shoulders.

“Is this about Eddie?”

Richie looked up jerkily, and found Mike looking sort of concerned. He bit his lip.

“I guess. He that obvious, huh.”

“I don’t think this is what it looks like, Rich.”

“Yeah? Cause it looks like he fucking hates me,” Richie blurted, with more emotion than he would have liked. He balled his fists. “More than usual, in case you were wonderin’.”

“What? No,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Richie. Eddie doesn’t hate you.”

“Sure fuckin’ makes it look that way, then,” Richie muttered, and felt to his horror his eyes prickling. “He’s not asked me to hang out once in like two months. He avoids me in school. And he never laughs at my jokes. Not that he usually does. But now it’s worse. And I- I can’t tell what he’s doing anymore.”

That was the absolute sucker punch of it, he realzied. Mike’s grip tightened, and Richie sniffed pathetically.

“I can always tell. I can always tell when he’s okay with it and when he thinks it’s funny and when he’s about to punch me in the face. But now I don’t, and I think I do and then he gets really angry and-“

He cut himself off, scrubbed at his eyes, and laughed too shrilly.

“Woah! That was some heavy stuff, Micheal! I think I’m gonna go see what the others are up to!”

“Richie,” Mike frowned, but Richie felt sick with embarrassment, and pulled himself upright, grin firmly in place as he sauntered over to the others. No more of this talk.

“Heyo, kids, what are we doing?”

And, amidst the greetings, Eddie got up from the bench and announced he was going home. Richie’s smile hurt.

  
He could tell things were pathetic because Stan was being nice to him.

Stan and he were pretty good friends, honest, but they were all snark and no sugar, unless one of them was, like, dying. So either Richie had cancer or everyone could see his pathetic moping.

Still- he was too mopey to refuse coddling.

“Your Walkman is literally falling apart,” Stan winced. “Buy yourself a new one with your job money instead of, whatever the fuck, Playboy subscriptions.”

“My Walkman has sensitive feelings, Staniel,” Richie chirped, reclaiming the device. “And I do not read Playboy.”

“Yeah, you can’t read, I forgot.”

“Fuck you, bird boy.”

“Birds are superior to you in every single way.”

“I don’t know, can birds do this?” Richie asked, and leaned in as if to kiss him. Stan kicked him off with a shout.

“No, they can’t, which is a point in their favour.”

“Chirp chirp.”

They lay companionably for a while, Richie listening to Stan explain his latest bird discovery and interrupting excitedly every couple of minutes. It was comfortable, but also it felt eerily like a distorted reflection of his usual- or, not usual anymore, he guessed- afternoon schedule.

Stan couldn’t be tricked into staying like Eddie could, so Richie tumbled after him as he pulled out of the driveway, still snickering about his innuendo as Stan rolled his eyes.

“Hey, Rich.”

“Yeah?” Richie asked, before catching the uncomfortable look on his friend. “Oh. Nyeah.”

“If you weren’t fucking around, I wouldn’t mind showing you the birds next time.”

“For real?” Richie crowed, bouncing on his heels. “I get to witness Stan-on-bird time?”

“No birdwatching,” Stan said, less tense. “You’d blind the birds if you didn’t shout them away first.”

“Suh-weet,” Richie said, and meant it. Getting invited along to bird time was sick.

“Don’t let it get to your head, moron.”

Richie paused, stilled.

“This isn’t a pity thing, is it?”

Stan turned with a very pointed frown. “Excuse me?”

“This isn’t a let’s feel sorry for Richie thing, is it?”

“What the fuck would I be feeling sorry for?” Stan asked, and shook his head. “You’re weird.”

Richie gave him a grateful beam, and Stan’s neck flushed as he cycled away. So maybe they were okay. Stan was great.

  
Most of the Losers were on Richie duty, but Richie wasn’t in the mood for Richie duty, so he managed to evade most social gatherings thrown his way, excusing himself as ill.

It was believable, because he couldn’t sleep, and looked like he was dying as a consequence.

He hadn’t slept more than four hours a day since the phone calling had started. Typical of his moods- couldn’t go back to routine until he’d finished his self-assigned task.

He couldn’t call Eddie. He was barely talking to Eddie.

He really fucking missed talking to Eddie.

He sat there by the phone each night and wondered what the hell he’d done. Yeah, he insulted Eddie and made filthy jokes about his mother and mocked his insecurities, but that was normal- that was how they rolled, and Eddie in return was Richie’s harshest critic. And he’d done nothing out of the ordinary at the start of this year- in fact he’d sort of softened up a little, so all he could have been accused of was becoming more annoying somehow.

Had he? He was obnoxious to Eddie in particular, he knew- all his jumpiness and fidgeting was distracting and annoying, his jokes were crude and unfunny, he was a clumsy mess who stressed Eddie out, he was a slacker and unable to focus where Eddie was trying to keep straight As, he caused trouble with Eddie’s mom because he couldn’t shut up. And he never shut up, yeah, Trashmouth had been an Eddie phrase- all the constant rambling bullshit Eddie made a point of complaining about.

In retrospect he didn’t understand why they’d been friends. Only he’d always thought, somehow, they were okay like that. That Eddie didn’t mind that much. Or else he wouldn’t have hung back with Richie, or left his windows unlocked for him to climb through, or laughed at most of his jokes and tried to hide it.

He did none of those things these days, Richie thought. His hand was scratching distractedly at his arm, over and over and over.

This had never seemed permanent. Now it did.

He picked up the phone and dialled. It rang, and rang, and r-

“Who the fuck is this?”

Eddie, irate and half awake and talking to him. Richie dropped the phone and scrambled to pick it back up in time.

“Richie, is that you?”

“Eds,” Richie panted, trying to regain his balance.

“I’m going to fucking kill you. It’s three in the goddamn morning, you absolute piece of shit, you know I’m a light sleeper-“

“You picked up,” Richie mumbled, dazed. “No one else picked up.”

“What? You’ve been doing this regularly? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I didn’t think you’d pick up,” Richie repeated, vaguely. He felt a little woozy.

“Yeah, so you’ve said,” Eddie whisper-yelled. “I’m going to go back to bed now, so that I can get some sleep-“

“Okay,” Richie said, meekly, and waited for the dial which never came.

“Richie?”

Eddie sounded suddenly very hesitant. Richie bit his nail.

“Huh?”

“Why- why aren’t you saying anything? You sound- weird.”

“I’m fine,” Richie said, automatically. But he couldn’t think of a joke.

Rustling. Eddie’s voice came quieter. “Are you okay?”

“Course I’m okay,” Richie said. His finger was now bleeding from biting too far into the nail. “I’m always okay.”

“I don’t,” Eddie started. “What are you doing right now? Isn’t this a prank call?”

“No,” Richie said. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

Eddie exhaled impatiently. “I got that much.”

“I ‘unno,” Richie shrugged. His finger was still bleeding. “Started cause of Bev. I’ve been calling everyone. Just to see what they do.”

“Well, you’ve seen it. I pick up because I’m an idiot. Happy?”

Richie bit at his nail again. He sort of wanted to cry.

“Richie, seriously, you’re freaking me out,” Eddie said, and Richie flinched and hung up.

His pulse was erratic.

  
He very nearly bunked school the next day, only that would have made everyone extra suspicious, and then they’d have made a huge fuss and whatever the fuck.

Instead, Richie did the honourable thing, and spent the day running away from Eddie, sitting as far away as possible and vanishing every time he so much as glanced his way. If he caught up with him, he’d play casual, but he had an inkling it might be a little hard.

Bill, obviously, was the one to corner him. This made sense, because Bill was their leader, Richie’s oldest friend, and also probably Eddie’s closest friend- no, definitely Eddie’s closest friend, seeing as Richie no longer was. His friend. At all, it seemed.

“R-r-r-rich. Hey. Can we t-t-talk?”

The problem with Bill was that he was the one person Richie couldn’t fend off, when he knew what was going on.

“We’re talking right now, boss.”

Bill took him by the arm and tugged him gently after him. Richie followed meekly.

“T-t-t-tell me.”

It wasn’t an order, but a gentle request from Bill had the same effect on Richie. He sucked in his lower lip and kicked a pebble.

“There’s nothing goin’ on, Billiam. Just facing some truths, ya know.”

“It’s s-s-still Eddie?”

So much for that. Richie gave him his sincerest smirk.

“Aw, hell, Bill. That’s old news. I’m not hung up on it.”

“I thought I told him to-” Bill started, to himself. “Is he being a d-d-dick to you?”

“Nah,” Richie laughed, hollowly. “He’s not being anything to me. It’s fine, though. Matter of time, wasn’t it?”

“W-w-what do you mean?”

“Come on, brah,” Richie exhaled, fighting to not lose his grin. His chest hurt. “Eddie can’t stand me. Our whole friendship was him complaining about everything I did. Wasn’t meant to last.”

“That’s not true,” Bill said, staunch and clear. “Richie, Eddie is having his own p-p-problems right now, and he’s handling them b-badly, that’s it. No one hates you.”

“Yeah,” Richie said, suddenly worked up. “Yeah, of course not. That’s why my fucking nickname is Trashmouth and my inside joke is to shut the fuck up. Loved by all, me.”

“Rich.”

“No!” Richie said, too loud, as Bill stilled, before calming himself. “No, Bill, leave it. It’s fine. If he’s over it, it makes sense. It’s fine.”

Bill sighed long and hard. “T-t-tozier. For once in your life, trust me on this. You’re b-both being stupid. Please. Don’t think this is a s-s-sign.”

“I’ve been not being stupid for like months!” Richie finally exclaimed, flinging his hands up in the air. “But I’ve waited and he’s still not talking to me and I thought we- but I don’t know and he’s done with me and I clearly do not count as his best friend, so fuck you and your _both being stupid_ , Bill.”

Bell rang. Richie shouldered his way out, out, out of school.

Home was empty, and he sat carefully on his floor flipping through Polaroids and porn magazines, trying not to sit and think for two long or it’d start eating his insides up, like- battery acid.

Eddie had picked up the phone.

Why had he picked up the phone?

For at least an hour, that was how he spent his afternoon- sat and scratching at his skinned knees with Queen in his ears and ugly snotty tears in his eyes, not spilling, just there, ready.

It was Beverly who broke his self-imposed martyrdom, with a cheeky smile and a bag of weed.

“Where’s my ugliest friend?”

“Mirror?”

“Jackass,” Bev laughed. “What’s messing up those pretty curls, huh?”

“Boys,” Richie threw back, because it sounded like a joke but wasn’t. “Come to comfort me? Maybe through sex?”

“Your limp dick wishes. Picked this up from a sketchy joint, though, should be good stuff.”

“Sketchy joint,” Richie parroted. “My kinda place.”

Bev gestured, he passed the lighter; she rolled an ugly joint, which he mocked; he rolled a better one, which she claimed. They lit their joints in unison.

“I’m a virgin, actually,” Bev said eventually, after a moment of silence. She was staring at the ceiling.

“Oh, word? How’s that feel?”

“Shut up. I’ve just never- like, anyone who doesn’t know me still thinks I’m a slut. And you guys- well, I wouldn’t fuck you guys.”

“Not even Bill?”

“...Maybe Bill.”

“You could _make love_ to Ben.”

“Never say that again,” Beverly laughed, coughing smoke. Her laugh was already a little wheezy. “This shit is strong.”

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t sleep with me. I’m pure animal magnetism.”

“You’re aight,” Beverly conceded. “Sort of cute, off-handedly hot. But if we had sex we’d be snickering all the way through, and I don’t want that to be my... You know.”

“Aw, babe,” Richie crooned, albeit sincerely flattered. The weed _was_ strong- his head was already woozy. “I am suave and erotic.”

“Eww.”

They put music on; Bev swayed as he lay upside down. His thoughts were swirling faster than usually, and he was sort of tingly all over, which wasn’t quite what he expected from weed. His skin prickled; he flexed his fingers and felt little dots trace themselves down his hand.

“I gotta pee,” Bev decided, and stumbled out of the room. Richie crooned agreement vaguely. Why did his posters have to look like that upside down? Upside down things looked bad, like cartoons. He didn’t want to look at cartoons, cause some of them were weird and trippy and made him think of clowns.

Suddenly sweaty, he swayed upright, and found himself completely off-kilter.

“Groovy,” he said out loud, and snorted unattractively at the word. What a word. Groovy. Guh-roo-vee.

“Richie?” Beverely said, faraway. If he looked sideways he could see her legs next to his head. Since when had he been lying down?

“Richie, I don’t feel so good, I think the weed was bad. Have you been smoking since I left?”

Richie tried to wink at the legs, and blinked instead.

“Richie,” Bev’s legs whined, more insistently.

“Hey, pretty lady,” Richie slurred, and Bev’s legs fidgeted anxiously.

“I’m calling the ambulance.” Then: “ _I’m gonna puke_.”

“Groovy,” Richie called after her retreating form, and laughed again.

  
Beverly was doing a lot of things, like puking, freaking out, puking, and calling Bill. Richie felt so floaty.

No, not floaty. Floaty was bad. Why was it bad?

“....I dunno, Bill, I feel so l-loopy,” Bev was stumbling, really struggling her words. Silly Beverly. “They’re coming in like fifteen. Richie’s supeeer weird.”

_“R-r-richie had some too?”_

“He’s so f-funny,” Beverly giggled, then paled. “I’m gonna be sick.”

 _“We’re coming,”_ Bill’s voice said, tinny. _“And after this is fixed we’re gonna talk about you guys buying this s-s-shit.”_

“Bill,” Beverly pleaded, wobbly. “Wasn’t on purpose.”

_“I know it wasn’t. But you and him do d-d-dumb shit to be cool, and I asked you to p-please just talk to him normally because he’s doing b-bad, and if something bad happens to him now, Bev, you’ll have f-f-fucked up.”_

Bev nodded with a big sad face, and Richie poked at her, surprised to find she didn’t melt. Usually people melted like goo. Or popped like balloons.

What was it with balloons?

Bev had dropped the phone and started mumbling tearily to herself, and Richie clasped it with clammy hands, hiccuping a little as his eyes got watery from moving so much. The whole room was swimming lines of colour, fishes falling from the roof, and he needed to tell Eddie, because fishes were from the sewer and Eddie would be super grossed out.

_“Who is this?”_

“Eddie,” Richie drawled, forgetting the fish. He was so happy to hear him. It was so great to talk to Eddie. Gee. What a swell guy. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie-spaghetti.”

_“Rich?”_

“You gotta,” Richie started, then giggled. “Woah. Hey. Hey, you always pick up.”

_“Are you high right now?”_

“Eddie,” Richie drew out. He didn’t want to laugh anymore. Suddenly he was cold. His room was spinning and Beverly was blurred and nothing was recognisable. He was in someone else’s house. He was in someone else’s house alone and Eddie would say no if he asked. It wasn’t fucking fair.

_“Richie, if Bill put you up to this-“_

“You suck,” Richie said, mournfully. He was gonna die now. He knew because he was sinking into the floor, and under the floor was the sewer and Pennywise. “I’m dying, Eds. You’re the worst.”

 _“You’re_ dying _?”_

The screechiness hurt his head, and he clutched the phone protectively. There was a wee-woo wee-woo noise, like clown music, and a blob of orange grabbing at him. Richie fucking hated clowns, and hated himself for deciding to go back down to the sewer, for being too much to survive upstairs. It made sense, though- he was being exiled back down.

“You guys sent me down to the clown,” Richie said, slurring more. “Eds, you really- I fixed your arm ‘n everythin’, I dunno, I thought we were ‘kay and all.”

_“Richie, what is g-“_

“I’m sorry, I guess,” Richie stammered, sucking his cheeks in. He wanted to cry. He was so fucking scared of the clown. His stomach hurt, and he was sweating, and he couldn’t see anything clearly, and there were big footsteps.

_“What.”_

“It makes sense you hate me, cause I know I talk dumb shit and I never stop even when I should and I’m dirty and awkward and I get in your space even when you don’t like it and I call you nicknames and make jokes about your mom even though I know she’s like real messed you up, and also I’m not even funny, like, ever, which- I mean, I know, I just thought we were all pretending I was, but it’s okay if we’re not, only- I dunno, I mean, I know you got all these reasons but before you always sort of let me in anyways and now you don’t so that’s fair enough, but I wish you’d just tell me, cause...”

Eddie said something incomprehensible. Richie’s mouth was barely forming syllables.

“I like it when you talk back at me, Eds, you’re sort of my best friend for that, but right now you’re- not, like, you’re just not talking to me or, or, or looking at me, and, uh, to be honest, that’s sort of- it sort of sucks, cause my- my parents are like that too, you know, like, they never see me or talk to me or care what I do, not even when I get detention or do- do really good, in school, and uh, I’m, like, I mean, I’m used to it, cause I’m like- you know, difficult, only, like, I sort of- well, with you it’s usually- anyways it’s okay because like, I get it, like, that I’m- you know, everyone just sort of has to tolerate me, but- I, I just, Eds,” Richie garbled, “It just hurts, like, right here, and I’m- I don’t wanna be on my own again, I don’t...”

There were hands on him, and Richie tried to scream but he couldn’t see or move much and all that came out was a choked little whimper, and his whole face was full of water, swimming under, and someone was making very high noises and he was- tired.

  
He came to in a hospital room, sometime early in the morning.

“Oh, thank god,” Stan said, immediately, as Richie blinked groggily. He clammed up once Richie squinted at him, looking pale and tired and awkward.

“Stan,” Richie said. It felt like chewing cotton. The room was weird, white with these artificial bits of decoration to liven it up; his bed was tacky and uncomfortable. If he strained his neck he could spot a door past the curtain.

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry if you were expecting bustier.”

“W’as going on?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Uh...” Richie strained to recall anything. “I... Bev is a virgin?”

“ _What_?” Stan stammered, neck going pink. “Richie, what the fuck? No, _wha_ \- do you remember getting stoned?”

“N-o?” Richie said, trying to sit up and finding a bunch of freaky tubes in his arms. “Oh, dude! Nasty! The hell?”

Stan was observing him weirdly, and Richie blinked at him.

“What? Am I dying?”

“ _No,_ ” Stan said, shaking himself out of it. “No, just. You guys smoked some bad weed. Apparently it had like, LSD or something laced in it. Bev was less bad cause she stopped faster and also puked a lot of it out, but you were in intensive care for a bit.”

“Woah,” Richie said, wishing he could remember any of this. “Do- do my parents know?”

“Bill got them to come. They were pretty worried. Your dad had to go to work, though. I think, uh, your mom is home right now. But she’s coming later, she said.”

“Right,” Richie said, and stomped down fiercely on the urge to start crying. Not in front of Stan. “Where are big B and co, actually? No offence, but I’d expect we have better bedside waiters than you. Like, more tears and sincerity involved.”

“Fuck you,” Stan said, with no heat. “Ben is with Bev, who’s basically fully fit but whose aunt is insisting she spend a full day in here in case any symptoms reappear. Mike was here all night, so he had to go work this morning, but he left you something.”

Richie squirmed to make grabby hands at the little box, which Stan passed him quietly. He opened it impatiently, slowed when he found his present.

“Richie,” the note read. “It’s not quite finished like I wanted, but I figured might as well give it now. Sorry I’m not there. Love you.”

Next to it, a little wooden carving, with gangly limbs, dorky glasses, and a baseball bat too big for his barely pubescent frame. The expression on his little face was fierce; the carving wasn’t exactly refined, but it almost vibrated with liveliness. Richie stared at his younger self and choked up a little.

“Is that you?” Stan said, waiting for approval before examining the figurine. “Shit, Mike’s good at this.”

For a beat they were quiet.

“Much better looking than in real life, obviously.”

“Need my glasses, Stan?” Richie jeered, and Stan rolled his eyes and Richie smiled.

“So Mike’s home,” he said, carefully setting the gift back down. “Where are...”

Stan bit his lip. Richie strained to stay neutral.

“Well. Bill is, sort of. A little, uh. Upset.”

“Huh?”

“He may have chewed Bev out a little. Then himself. Then-“

“Great.”

Stan very awkwardly patted his arm. It was exactly what he needed to get out of his funk, snorting at the expression on his friend’s face and laughing harder when Stan scowled.

“I’ll go get Bill for you, then.”

“Yeah, thanks, bud,” Richie wheezed. Stan flipped him off.

He sobered up once he’d left the room. Jesus. LSD. That was pretty metal. He’d be prouder of himself if he could remember literally anything beyond Beverly coming over. And if he didn’t feel sort of disgusting.

“Rich,” Bill greeted. He looked tired, and sorry, and worried. Richie stuck his tongue out at him, and watched him brighten a little, some stress melting back.

He thought of Georgie, and suddenly felt very guilty.

“Bill. Hear you’ve been terrorising innocents for me.”

Bill sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I may have f-f-freaked a little.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You really didn’t know, right?” Bill asked, anxiety creeping into his voice. “That it was L-L-LSD. Cause I know you’re s-sort of s-s-s-s-... Fuck! S-self-destructive! But-“

“No, no, no, woah,” Richie interrupted, hastily. “I’m not overdosing and shit, dude. No. No way. Deprive the world of the Tozier show? As if.”

Bill still didn’t look convinced. Richie steeled himself and took his hand.

“Look, Billiam. Seriously. I’ve never even considered suicide. It’s not my style. I’d go, I dunno, join a guerilla group in Cuba, if I wanted to go out with a bang.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Bill smiled, less drawn and more fond now. Richie squirmed but kept his hold for long enough that Bill took his hand in both his own and squeezed hard. “Dumbass. N-n-next time stick to the cocaine.”

Richie laughed, and Bill laughed too, stupidly, just out of relief.

“Can’t say I don’t make your life interesting, at least.”

“I would never ac-c-c-cuse you of that,” Bill sighed, with half a smile. Then he frowned. “Listen, Rich. About Eddie-“

Richie had seen it coming. “I know. S’okay. Hospitals. Even for one of you guys he wouldn’t set foot in here.”

Bill opened and shut his mouth, conflicted. Richie shrugged. It was true. Not seeing Eddie here had hurt for all of a second, but it didn’t last. This would have been fine even in normal, still friends circumstances. Compared to everything else, it hurt way less than the rest.

They sat quietly, Bill eventually striking up conversation again when it became clear Richie was getting antsy, and it was okay. This hospital detour was nothing serious, just a dumb accident. He’d have to make sure Bev wasn’t too rattled.

It’d be fine.

  
Richie had been awake for about half an hour when loud commotion came from the hallway, followed by crashing, followed by more commotion. He exchanged confused glances with Bill, who rose to see what was going on.

“I’m gonna,” Bill said, gesturing to the hallway, and Richie nodded, watching him go curiously. His mind had gone to Pennywise, but it wasn’t that, or he’d have felt it.

Bill was gone maybe a minute, raised voices in the hallway but nothing Richie could make out from his room, and then the doors were crashing open and Eddie Kaspbrak was bursting into the room with wild eyes. Richie’s heart stopped.

“ _Richie_ ,” Eddie half shouted half wheezed, and beelined for him, expression unlike anything Richie had seen on him since That Summer, hair matted and stuck to his face, nose bruised, breaths far too short.

“What,” Richie said, probably hallucinating. Distantly he could hear Bill placating someone.

“Oh, Jesus,” maybe Eddie was saying, looking frankly possessed, as he ran closer. “I was meant to be here last night, I came as soon as I could, my mom heard you were in hospital so she refused to drive me and locked my bike and then I tried to get a cab so she locked me in my room so I broke the window as soon as she stopped patrolling outside and then I hitched a ride out of town with this creepy dude but the buses were cancelled outside because it was late so I had to walk but I can’t go very fast cause, like, you know, so I just got here-“

“You ran from Derry to here? It’s like an hour’s ride by bike!”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, and lost some of his manic energy, stopping just short of the bed. “I did.”

“What the fuck,” Richie managed. “Dude, do you even have your inhaler?”

“No,” Eddie said, slowly. “No, I sort of- forgot it at home.”

Richie blinked.

“So you- broke through your window, and hitched a ride with a stranger, and then ran without your inhaler, all to get into a hospital willingly?”

“Yes,” said Eddie. His ears were red, and he was looking around the room as if he was just now remembering the amount of germs in it.

He looked sweaty and crazy and disgusting.  
Richie suddenly realised he’d probably been in love with him for years. The knowledge knocked the wind out of him.

He struggled to reactivate his brain long enough to speak.

“Eddie, why the hell would you do any of these things?”

“I,” Eddie said, and blushed actively. Then he set his shoulders, and his eyes turned-  
guilty. “You called me, before- you scared me.”

The last bit was quiet. Eddie hated to admit vulnerability, especially where Richie was concerned. Here, though, Richie could see the echoes of fear in the way Eddie kept checking him, like he’d vanish if he didn’t.

“I called you? I don’t remember,” Richie said, then grinned weakly. His mind was still sort of stuck on the whole in love thing. “Sure that wasn’t a wet dream?”

“You said you thought I hated you,” Eddie swallowed, shutting Richie up. “You were- you cried. And you said all these things about- us.”

“Oh,” Richie managed. Well. Time to die.

“I was so scared,” Eddie choked out, forcing his eyes up. “Rich, you called me deliriously saying all this stuff and then you suddenly vanished and I thought- I thought maybe it was back, or you’d died, and that was the last thing you thought.”

“Eddie,” Richie faltered, face burning. “Can we pretend this never happened? I’m fine. It was just a dumb mistake. I was high, man, I was talking shit. Probably thought you were your mom.”

“No,” Eddie said, balling his fists. His face was flushed, and he looked ill, and Richie’s chest tightened in fear. “No, cause- cause you’re wrong, ‘Chee, you’re so wrong, and it’s my fault for being an asshole.”

Wow, he hadn’t heard that nickname in... Years. Richie was pretty sure this was actually all in his head.

“Eds, I, uh, have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

Eddie inhaled a long, wheezy breath, and Richie subconsciously reached for a spare inhaler he didn’t have. Eddie caught the action, and they both stared at each other for a beat before Eddie seemed to pull himself together.

“You’re right that I’ve been blowing you off for like- a month. Two. More. But- it’s not cause you did anything wrong.”

“It isn’t,” Richie repeated, a little croaky. “Sure.”

“No, it _isn’t_ ,” Eddie snapped, which was oddly reassuring, before drooping again. His hands were shaking; it was making Richie on edge. “I- I was trying to keep our friendship intact. Protect it from- myself.”

That made literally no fucking sense, and Richie felt himself open his mouth to say so, but Eddie shook his head jerkily.

“I was trying to stop us from being so- close, cause I-“

He paused, and faltered, and for one moment looked at Richie with the big frightened eyes of another Eddie from long ago, unsure and scared and looking to him for reassurances he wasn’t qualified to give.

“Hey, dude,” Richie tried, out of his depth. “It’s okay. No hard feelings. If you hate me, you hate me.”

Eddie’s face hardened, but it felt directed inwards, not towards him.

“I shut you out because I was scared of myself. I didn’t know what to do. You fuck me up. And I thought maybe if I left space it’d be better, except instead it sucked and I missed you and turns out I fucked up and hurt you on top of it all, plus now I have to tell you the truth anyways, so really I basically did the exact opposite of lessening the goddamn issue.”

“Eds, I don’t understand.”

Eddie inhaled, bit his lip, closed his eyes. Richie steeled himself, expecting something like you have a rare disease that I can’t live with or it turns out we’re related by blood and all the jokes you made about my mom were oedipal or the fucking clown is back.

“I’m- I like you,” Eddie said, like pulling teeth. “Like, _like_ you. I have for like- who fucking knows. Years. And, I mean- I’ve always known I- you know, I was. Queer. Everyone knew. But I never realised you- except, you know, of course it was. Of course, of all the people for me to fall in love with, it would be you. Because life is just- fucking swell. But it turns out it is, and I was- am- terrified, of that, because feelings are scary, let me tell you, and also you’re a shithead but you’re my best goddamn friend and if this ruined that I would throw myself off a bridge, so yeah, not to keen on sharing. But that didn’t work out so well, and now instead I’ve spent two months conflicted and pining like a jackass, and you think I hate you, and I’m a flaming queer, so that’s- that.”

It was maybe the most words he’d ever said to Richie without insulting him or complaining about him. Richie would have been celebrating that if he hadn’t reeling in shock.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, miserable. “If I’d just shut up and acted normal we would have gone along our merry ways without you knowing.”

“No, shut up, what? Eds, are you serious?”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie said, quietly. He looked very tired, and very soft. “Yeah, of course I’m serious. Nothing about this is funny.”

“Well,” Richie said. Then blushed. Then cleared his throat. He sort of wanted to laugh, and he sort of wanted to cry.

“D’you want me to go?” Eddie asked. “I can get Bill back in. Don’t beat yourself up about this.”

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” Richie said, firmly, enough that Eddie looked at him in confusion and Richie himself was a little caught off guard by his own voice. “Haul your ass back here.”

Eddie hovered.

Okay, Richie thought. So this was his move.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Eddie asked, very loudly. “Is this a joke? _Fuck_ you.”

Richie shrugged, although his cheeks were burning. “Listen. Eds. I’ve been in love with you since probably the day we met.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie said, but hesitant, his eyes sharp. Richie hated it when people looked through him like that, but for Eddie he could sit still, try and let him look.

“Eds. I call you cute on a daily basis. I touch you all the time. I provoke you constantly with tailored mockery. I walked into a fucking clown death trap house for you. I forget my own shit but carry around an inhaler. It’s not exactly hard to see.”

“That’s just- you.”

“Come on, Eddie!” Richie said, with almost gleeful exasperation. “Whaddya want me to say? You’re the cutest boy in the darn world, and you’re fuckin’ crazy. You’re scared of germs but you kicked a psychopatic monster clown into the sewers. You’re always on track to match my bullshit. You love Africa by Toto.”

“Shut up,” Eddie said, but he was smiling, reluctant, sort of shell-shocked. Like he hadn’t seen this coming. Richie honestly didn’t know how he could not have seen this coming. Like, how he could have thought it was one-sided, but on his side. “Trashmouth. This better not be garbage.”

“Eds, honey, baby, would I ever lie to you?”

Eddie’s cheeks went pink, and he was properly pretty with his hair all tangled and his face pink and his dirty clothes, so Richie grinned wide at him as he scowled, pushing on.

“The only part here you should be questioning is whether you’re really prepared to see more of this.”

It came out a little more sincere than jokey. Eddie met his eyes. Richie chortled weakly.

“Listen, Tozier. You’re insufferable, and you talk shit, and you hide your insecurities behind fifty layers of nonsense, and your accents frankly suck, and you have no respect for people’s boundaries or discomfort,” Eddie rattled off, before pausing carefully. “But. You’re- you care more than anyone I know. You’re funny- when you get the joke right it’s like magic. You’re obnoxiously pretty for such a mess of features. You’re insufferably smart without trying. You’re- sweet, also. Selfless. I wish I had half your guts. And I literally can’t imagine life without you, but if I try it seems like the worst idea I’ve ever had, which is saying something.”

Richie had never been redder. He also might have been crying a little, upset for no good reason. Not like, big deal crying, just his eyes were a little teary. Probably allergies.

This kind of thing was not said to Richie Tozier. No one felt this way about Richie Tozier. Especially not Eddie Kaspbrak.

And yet...

“That’s real romantic, Eds. Gonna make your mom jealous.”

“Beep beep, jerkass,” Eddie said, and opened his arms tentatively. He barely even looked at the tubes. Wow. That was true love for you. “Can I hug you?”

“Gee, now I do feel like a damsel,” Richie snarked, but took the offer, leaning forwards with a hiss of pain to nestle into the hug. Eddie was small but solid, a rock to Richie’s roots; he clung to him too tightly and Eddie held on just as hard.

They’d been the only two to hug goodbye then.

“I love you for real, Eds,” Richie mumbled, into Eddie’s hair, for good measure. “Just so you know for sure. I mean, what your mom and I have is special, undoubtedly, but.”

“You’re the worst,” Eddie declared, and spontaneously squeezed Richie’s hand, making him lose his balance for a moment. He sat back a little, and Richie thought how odd it was, him ill in hospital and Eddie scruffy and rebellious.

“So,” Richie said, conscious of the fragility of the moment, of Eddie’s still disbelieving face, of his own offbeat pulse. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Jesus,” Eddie whined, pinching his brow. “Why are you like this?”

“That’s not a no,” Richie grinned, and readjusted his glasses. “I’m just saying, your mom will probably find out where you are and come looking. Should be laying low by then.”

“Ugh,” Eddie said. And shuffled closer, eyes serious and heavy. “Okay, then.”

“Oh, wait, for real? I, uh, I wasn’t expecting th-“

Eddie kissed him. It was dry and tasted like grapefruit chapstick, and Eddie was careful and precise and none of the things Richie liked.

It was definitely the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Richie was too stunned to reciprocate, so Eddie moved away, looking defensive and sheepish until he looked at Richie and found him wide-eyed and blushing.

“So much for your casanova attitude,” Eddie said, tentatively snarky, and Richie jolted back to life to cup his face in his big clumsy hands. Eddie went silent, somehow still a little smiley.

“Woah,” Richie said, at an unusual loss for words, and leant in to kiss him again, feeling twelve and not seventeen. It was immediately better, Richie too shaken to be the kind of sloppy eager he knew he probably would be otherwise. Eddie’s hand rose to hold his wrist, and Richie sort of sighed a little. Eddie made a kind of surprised noise, and then things went hot and sticky like the last days of summer, Richie’s body humming with poorly contained energy as he tried to focus on not starting to flail excitedly. It came as a surprise when Eddie moved back first, and Richie blinked his eyes open slowly, a little dazed.

Eddie’s eyes were bright with a mysterious emotion, cheeks flushed, and he subconsciously moved his fingers to his lips, like he was checking if he’d dreamt the kiss up. Richie’s breath hitched.  
  
He couldn’t think of any time they’d ever been this quiet.

“Who knew there was a way to shut you up,” Eddie mumbled, echoing his thoughts. It was way too soft for normal chirping, though. Richie felt his smile grow.

“That wasn’t so bad. Obviously, your mom is a way better kisser, but-“

“Beep fucking beep, Tozier,” Eddie snapped, immediately annoyed, and Richie smiled wider than he thought he could, giddy. They were back on track. They were back on track except now apparently he got to kiss Eddie, and also Eddie thought he was pretty and funny and insufferably smart.

“So,” Richie grinned, bouncy. His glasses were slipping down his nose. “You _like like_ me, Kaspbrak?”

“No, I hate you,” Eddie shot back, easily. “I changed my mind. That was a brief asthma induced delusion.”

“Aw, Eds,” Richie faux-whined, still smiling like a crazy person as he leant towards him. “That’s not very nice at all.”

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie said, but he was looking at him through his lashes and his scowl was half a smirk.

“I think,” Richie theorised, crowding him closer, “You like being called Eds.”

“Oh, you do, huh?”

“Mmmyeah.”

“Got any proof, Trashmouth?”

“Well. I could put my theory to the test.”

“Eddie, I’m s-s-sorry, your m- woah,” went Bill, who paused in the doorframe. Both Richie and Eddie froze, but neither jumped back, instead just turning to Bill with probably very incriminating expressions. His eyes went from Eddie to Richie to Eddie to Richie again, saying something like _wow, this is actually happening in my life_.

“Clown gotcha tongue, Bill?” Richie asked, because he had no restraint. Bill’s stunned expression faded into long-suffering habit.

“No. Eddie’s mom has showed up a-all screechy. Thought you might want the h-h-heads-up.” The latter comment was unduly sarcastic

“Fuck her,” Eddie groused, which was just another beautiful statement on his part. Richie was sure his expression staring at him was sickening. “What’s she gonna do, lock me up until finals? I’m leaving for New York in the summer. If she wants me ever coming back for holidays she’s gonna have to start making allowances.”

Richie applauded enthusiastically, and Eddie glared at him, remembering himself. Bill seemed midway between staring and laughing.

“Well, uh. I’ll l-l-let her know you’re not on your way, then.”

Eddie grumbled non-comittally, and Bill hovered by the door.

“Also, g-g-guys-“

He was smiling, eyes twinkling almost mischievously but smile sincere. “T-t-thanks for getting your s-shit together. It’s b-been a long t-t-ten years.”

“Shut up,” Eddie groaned, as Richie barked out a laugh that frankly hurt his chest. Bill vanished with a chuckle.

  
The house was quiet. Richie had a pack of cigarettes in his one hand and a bottle of nail varnish in the other, debating his priorities.

It was weird, how much things felt stagnant this time of the day. Life had changed so much in all other aspects, across the years, but sitting here in his same old room you’d never have guessed their days in Derry were coming to a close, their offers drafting in day by day.

New York city. Richie would have to work on his accents.

He set the nail varnish down and pulled out a smoke instead, too nervous to concentrate. It’d be fine. They’d stay in touch somehow. Mike was staying and the others were going all over the country but it would be fine.

They wouldn’t forget him.

The phone, abruptly, began to ring shrilly, making him fumble for his cigarette as he confusedly stumbled downstairs. What in the actual hell-

“Yo, Tozier residence?”

“Rich,” Eddie said, in a rush. Richie stilled. “Rich, I got my offers.”

Suddenly if felt hard to breathe. He coughed a mouthful of smoke.

“Yeah? So? What’s the hot goss? We going European?”

“Shut up,” Eddie said, urgent. “Where did you get in, ‘Chee?”

Richie swallowed, pressed his cigarette down against his palm. “NYU.”

Eddie made a very loud noise that Richie couldn’t place but didn’t sound- didn’t sound bad? He didn’t know; his nerves were getting the best of him, he...

“Rich, _me too_ , I _got NYU_.”

“Oh, yeah?” Richie asked, faint. Things were falling into place out of nowhere, a sudden possible future growing bright and exciting.

“Oh my god,” Eddie said. “Oh my god, we’re going to New York.”

“Yo,” Richie said, the same thought registering. “We’re going to New York, Eds.”

“Stop calling me that,” Eddie said, but he was grinning so hard Richie could hear it. So maybe things were gonna be pretty fucking good, starting now.

 

**Author's Note:**

> oh, these kids.


End file.
